Dear Tummy,
You need to shape up! I mean that literally and figuratively, I’d love you to flatten down and get some definition, but right now I mostly mean that I have one more day at an all-inclusive resort for this conference and I’d like to eat, drink (Pepsi with flavored syrup added, yum!), and be merry. Instead you have me sitting, laying under the covers, and sipping only Sprite. Boo. Let’s get our act together, shall we?

Dear My Babies in Heaven,
My miscarriages were some of the most painful moments of my life– desiring so badly to give you life and being unable to do anything except bleed and cry, feeling helpless. I ached for you then and that dull ache of loss remains a part of me as long as I am in this broken body.

I don’t know why I wasn’t able to hold you, but through my losses I took such comfort in Deuteronomy 29:29– the secret things belong to The Lord. Tucked inside my womb for only a few short weeks, you two were my secret things. Your tiny little bodies almost invisible to the human eye, but eternally significant to the Creator of life. To trust that you belonged to The Lord brought me unspeakable peace. He saw you, He knew you, He cared for you because He created you.

I’m sorry I could never hold your hand or kiss your face or tickle your tummy. Please know I loved you, I loved you from the very moment I knew you were there. Your days, although few, were marked with smiles and plans for the future and anticipation and joy.

I don’t pretend to know how heaven will work when I get there, but I hope I can glimpse your sweet faces there as we worship our risen Savior– the one who will wipe every tear from our eyes and will fully redeem that which was broken and lost here on earth.

Dear Quiet Hotel Room,
You know that scene in Date Night when Tina Fey is flipping out to her husband (Steve Carrell) and she says she just wants to be alone in a quiet hotel room with no one touching her drinking her Diet Sprite and eating her lunch in peace?

Yes, that is currently happening for me, and I’m so happy to be getting to know you. Except my Sprite tonight was not diet and had strawberry syrup in it, which yes, I realize is probably chock-full of High Fructose Corn Syrup. Deeeelicious.

You are exactly as great as Tina made you sound… So quiet. So clean. So peaceful. So quiet. (Wait, did I say quiet twice? That’s because it is REALLY quiet.)

You’re kicking sorta kicking my tail this year. I love learning with my children, coaching them as they try new things, encouraging them when it’s tough, and celebrating their victories right alongside them. But figuring out how to make you work with two different kids and two different grade levels and other life things happening and demanding my attention, whew. I’m beat.

I’m thankful you’re so flexible. For the mornings when we need a family sanity day and we stay in pajamas and eat pancakes and watch a newly released movie with the curtains drawn, your ability to bend and stretch to fit our needs is extremely likable.

But the (possibly imagined?) demands you place on me make me feel like I can’t catch my breath sometimes. You are a heavy burden as I seek to educate my children– to emphasize in the right places and teach enough concepts and exhort them to learn for themselves and to push them far enough without breaking their little spirits… You’re a continuously evolving puzzle to me.

I’m heading to a conference this week all about you, and like marriage counseling for a struggling couple, I hope we can get some new perspective together so that I’m ready to jump back into you with both feet next week, with a smile on my face behind a ginormous cup full of hot coffee. But no jean jumpers for me, I’m sorry I just can’t go there.

It’s been a while since we were together, it’s a hazard of having young kids who wake up at o’ dark thirty no matter what. Seriously, we sing the Days of the Week song but they don’t seem to get that Saturdays and Sundays are SPECIAL because SLEEP!

But they are getting older now and we’ve been training them to turn on Disney DVDs and pour their own cereal, all in preparation for you to come and stay with us on the weekends. You know, parenting priorities. (Or maybe #parentsoftheyear better fits here.)

So, it was beyond amazing to see you this morning! Thanks for dropping in for a visit this morning.

Dear Mom,
You just finished your first half marathon this morning and I am so proud of you! What an inspiration that you have spent week after week pushing yourself to the next mile marker, working through pain and heat and tiredness.

I only wish I could have been standing on the sides, cheering you on this morning… Actually, I wish I was right there running with you, reminding you to breathe when you got a cramp and promising we were close to 13.1 when you wanted to quit. Maybe next year?

Thanks for being such a great lady, you are an inspiration that getting older can be graceful and full of recognizing dreams. I hope I’m as cool as you are when I’m as old as you are (haha, just kidding, you’re so young!).